Fulfilling Destiny
by lordlivgon
Summary: Eragon faces up to his destiny. Is killing Galbatorix the fulfillment of his fate, or will Angela's final, solemn prediction that he will leave Alagaesia forever come true? T for safety reasons.
1. The Throne Room

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING!**

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Eragon and Arya burst into the throne room, swords in hand, as they prepared for the fight of their lives. The hopes of the people that had died – Brom and Oromis deaths still slashed a cold, torturous path through Eragon's mind when he thought about them – had never died with them, but had passed on to those still living to carry on their aspirations. The hopes of the now living – Arya, Nasuada, Orik, Murtagh, Roran, Katrina – had been inextricably intertwined with the fates of the two Riders. The hopes of those yet unborn – Roran and Katrina's son, the children Eragon knew Murtagh and Nasuda wished to have, the children _he_ wished to have with his beloved elf – had been taken on by those that already walked the world, those that would and could lay down their lives in the pursuit of a better tomorrow.

Hopes. Hopes were what gave the Riders strength. The hopes of yesterday, today and tomorrow pushed them forward. _Did Galbatorix ever have hopes? Did he once know the power of aspirations as the wind at his back?_ Eragon absently wandered as he saw his mortal enemy in the flesh for the first time.

The king drew his black blade. Although he was nearly two hundred years old, he did not look a day above twenty. His eyes were dark pools devoid of emotion; his mouth set in a thin, crimson line that asked no parley and expected no quarter.

Eragon plunged into the flow of magic. _The time has come._ Outside, Saphira and Greeni battled against Shruikan. Tooth against claw, claw against scale, Shruikan fought with undying ferocity and held his own against his two opponents. Eragon closed his mind, heard Saphira's last _be safe, little one_ fade and spoke the seven words Brom had whispered to him as his final blessing. He knew he was taking a risk – he had no idea what the words would do. But he knew they were powerful, and he relied on them to do something to stop Galbatorix.

Almost instantly he felt the drain of magic. Eragon staggered. The spell needed power. He tapped into the vast reserve he wore on his finger – Aren, another of Brom's gifts. Arya looked at him concernedly. He straightened up, restoring his strength with the gems in the belt of Beloth the Wise, nodding her a wordless reassurance.

A swirl of pure energy cascaded around Galbatorix. Despite the enormous amount of magic in Aren, it was being drained alarmingly fast. Eragon used the enchanted communication bracelet he wore to contact Murtagh. _Now. It is happening. Take the Eldunari. Fly._ He shielded his mind from Galbatorix again, trusting Murtagh to fulfil his role in the plan.

When the magic of Aren was nearly completely depleted, the spell's tug on his mind finally ended. Eragon sighed in relief and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding; he had feared that the spell would kill him. Galbatorix growled in frustration. "Shur'tugal, deyja!"

Eragon stiffened. The king must have been angered beyond belief to try something so crude. Still, Galbatorix had so much more power than him. He was relief when the spell invoked nothing more than a slight shiver than ran down his back. Galbatorix's eyes bulged with frustration and anger. "Kveykva!"

Nothing more than a few sparks shot out of his fingertips; Galbatorix let a volley of dreadful oaths fly. Then he bellowed with rage.

"BROM! YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!"

The king erupted in a litany. "In life, you and the spirit of your pathetic dragon haunted me. In death, now you still continue your fight from beyond the grave? Fool is the one who said Brom would fail in life in all but one endeavour, for it seems he succeeded in everything but keeping himself and his dragon alive!"

Eragon was elated, but he showed no emotion on his face – Galbatorix had lost the ability to cast magic! He offered up a silent prayer to Brom. Arya gripped his hand in hers. "Waíse ramr, fricai Eragon." _Be strong, friend Eragon._ He mentally blanched. _Friend?_ He pushed those thoughts aside and murmured, "Wiol ono, Arya." He mentally contemplated an attack while the kind ranted, but was quickly dissuaded when the king suddenly swung his blade in a deadly arc that would have had his head had he been closer.

Madness burned in Galbatorix's eyes. He charged, twirling his black blade in a menacing display, as though wielding Angela's huthvir.

They clashed blades with the tyrant king. A deadly but silent display save for the ring of metal against metal, flashing twin swords of brightsteel against the accursed bloodrunic sword of Galbatorix.

He was an excellent swordsman even without his magic or dragon, Eragon contemplated as he guarded yet another swift stroke. Even with the two of them against him, they could do no more than guard against his attacks. Roran wouldn't have lasted ten seconds. Maybe Vanir could have managed five minutes. Oromis and Brom, his two dead teachers, would have lasted ten minutes together. Arya fifteen, himself twenty if they fought alone. Together, he thought it was a miracle they had lasted an hour.

Galbatorix's eyes still shone with madness and he showed no sign of tiring. Arya's guards began to slow, each infinitesimally slower than the last, but still slowing. Eragon felt his arm begin to deaden. Galbatorix pressed his advantage. He drove them back.

Suddenly, Arya made her first mistake, leaving her guard down for a brief second. Eragon tried to protect her, but Galbatorix took his swing with his blade while turning the hilt towards Arya, hitting her in the chest with incredible strength. Arya flew across the throne room with a dull thump as she landed.

Eragon's heart flew into his mouth. He cleaved Galbatorix's helm with a powerful blow before he could recover from hitting Arya. It barely dented the strong metal, but Galbatorix took an involuntary step back, giving Eragon space to vault backwards and check on Arya, who had tottered unsteadily to her feet. He could see that Galbatorix had broken at least three ribs. He touched it, and before Arya could protest, used the remaining energy that Aren had – sorely had that spell depleted it! – to heal her. Arya turned towards him, a clear admonishing look in her eyes, before turning back to face Galbatorix, who seemed to by wholly unaffected by that blow Eragon had dealt. The king ripped of his uselessly dented helm, revealing a well-cropped head of spiky, black hair.

Eragon gulped. He fortified himself with whatever energy remained in the belt of Beloth the Wise, before turning to meet Galbatorix's head-on charge. _At least I now know how good Galbatorix's hairstylist is,_ as a stray thought ran through his mind.

They clashed again. Arya fought with both determination and intensity as she seemed to leave her weariness behind for a time. Eragon fought for Arya – whenever he looked at her, he was reminded of how much was staked on the outcome of this battle, including his beloved elf's life and liberty, and he battered his sword against Galbatorix's, hoping to at least wound the king. Still, Galbatorix fought with the same great vigour and energy, a mocking smile dancing upon his lips, taunting his opponents for their arrogance in thinking they could challenge the great king. _Murtagh, hurry up! _Eragon prayed in the back of his mind.

That cruel smile still plastered upon his thin lips, Galbatorix flicked his sword twice in succession. Brisingr flew to one side, Arya's blade Mor'ranr to the other. Before Galbatorix could strike again, there was a disturbance in the air, and Eragon knew that something had changed. Galbatorix seemed to lose a little of that endless vitality he had. He seemed to age rapidly, youthful, twenty-four year old appearance substituted for that of a forty-year-old man.

_Murtagh has succeeded._ Jubilantly, Eragon and Arya dived in the opposite directions for their blades. Galbatorix no longer received strength from his Eldunari and would have to rely on himself. Galbatorix raised his horrible blade and went for Arya's neck. She turned and raised her blade just in time. Sparks flew as they clashed. But Arya was on the floor, leaving her vulnerable, while Eragon was on the other side of the room. Galbatorix sent another stroke straight for her jugular.

As the blade fell, Eragon threw himself across the marble room, Brisingr outstretched, pushed Arya out of the way, and caught the king's fell stroke on his blade. Arya sprung to her feet as Eragon blocked another thrust. She caught Galbatorix's next stroke on her blade and distracted him long enough for Eragon to get to his feet again.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, they duelled with Galbatorix. For the first time, there was a little fear in his eyes. Still he would not yield. Still his blade rung true on theirs. Truly, Galbatorix had the strength of two elves, and the constitution of five.

They danced, again, in a musically unaccompanied twirl of blades. Galbatorix got an opening and slashed Arya crosswise across her chest. She staggered back, crimson blood flowing. Brisingr blocked the finishing move that would have killed Arya. Galbatorix sliced into his hip and fire coursed through his veins. _Enchanted blade! _

Then, above the tumult, someone cried, "Thrysta vindr!" Galbatorix flew backwards. Murtagh strode forward, a confident smile on his face. Behind him, Nasuada, Orik, Orrin, Angela, Roran, Queen Islanzadí and some of the twelve elves that were protecting me burst into the throne room.

"Give it up, Galbatorix," Murtagh smirked, "it's over. Shruikan is dead – Saphira and Greeni took him apart. Thorn was going to help, but when they arrived Saphira was already holding Shruikan's funeral. The Eldunari you have enslaved for countless years are now beyond your reach."

Behind Murtagh, the elves rushed to restore Arya and Eragon. They too rose to their feet, swords outstretched. Murtagh raised his sword. In three swift strokes, Galbatorix's blade was knocked out of his hands and clattered to the floor some distance away. Murtagh executed the killing move, but as the blade flew he saw Torkenbrand in his mind, the slaver he had killed an eternity ago when he had been travelling with Eragon. Other memories from that age had long since faded since his harsh existence as a Rider serving Galbatorix had begun, but Torkenbrand stood out. Once, Murtagh would have killed without a second thought. But his true name had changed, and he hesitated at the final blow.

Galbatorix kicked Murtagh in the fork between his legs. "Just like Vrael," he spat, as Murtagh collapsed, "Just like Vrael." Eragon and Arya rushed at him. Galbatorix defended himself with Zar'roc, and fortified himself with the energy Murtagh had placed within the ruby of the pommel.

Eragon and Arya rushed Galbatorix. The elves rushed forward to help. Linking his mind with Arya and Blodhgärm, who channelled energy from the rest of the elves, Eragon exchanged a few strokes with Galbatorix. Behind him, Arya called, "Malthinae!" Galbatorix froze abruptly. In a second, a sheaf of blades was pointed at his neck. Eragon rushed to check on Murtagh. He had been rendered unconscious, but was otherwise only afflicted with minor injuries.

The three dragons arrived in the throne room, their bulk easily contained by the massive chamber. The Riders ran to embrace their dragons. _I missed you, little one!_ Saphira cried as she bounded over to Eragon. _I missed you too, Saphira. Are you okay? How did you fare against Shruikan?_

_Shruikan had lost his will to live_, she growled. _Enslaved and tortured on a daily basis by Galbatorix, he was a shadow of the grand stature of a real dragon. Galbatorix forced him to fight, but his heart was not in it. Where is the oathbreaker? I will make him see the error of his ways. _

_We cannot, Saphira. As much as I would like to rend his heart out with Brisingr, I - we - must remember the words of King Orrin. We cannot take the responsibility to decide who lives and who dies upon ourselves._

Eragon turned towards the assembled leaders of the resistance, who had been waiting patiently.

"I have not forgotten your words, King Orrin, spoken so wisely on that day I returned to the Varden after I slew the Ra'zac. 'For he who has the audacity to determine who should live and who should die no longer serves the law but dicatates the law.'" Eragon acknowledged. "I am neither judge nor jury, only the executioner, the instrument of will of those I serve. In a way that is troubling, for it makes me seem no more than a finely balanced sword, but in other ways it is necessary and right. Shall we now hold trial for Galbatorix?"

"RELEASE ME, YOU SCUM!" Galbatorix yelled as he struggled against his bonds. "I AM THE KING OF ALAGAESIA!"

Arya bound his mouth with magic.


	2. Trials, Speeches, Kingship and Halos

**DISCLAIMER**

**Me: I still don't own anything.**

**CP: That's right. I do!**

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One by one, they spoke against him.

Nasuada related her tales, of the Varden's harsh beginnings to its final, dreadful role in the wars that had exacted terrible tolls in lives.

Orrin spoke of the desperate formation of the state of Surda to oppose the Empire, how Surdans had struggled to bring peace to Alagaesia, and their own participation in the wars that had taken many a faithful Surdan from the arms of his wife and children.

Eragon and Roran shared their stories, interwoven yet separate, together, of the finding of the egg, the Ra'zac, the murder of Brom, the sacking of Carvahall, the many times they had to kill in opposition to Galbatorix, the death of Oromis, the destruction on the battlefield.

Arya, Islanzadí, Saphira, Thorn and Greeni linked their minds and spoke as one. Together they gave Galbatorix a history lesson from the point of view of someone other than him or his Forsworn. The terrible Fall of the Riders, the great war as Galbatorix swept to power, the tortured existence of the elves and dragons, the terrible crimes Galbatorix committed towards the race of dragons.

Murtagh, having regained consciousness after being tended by an elf, gave the final testimony. He indicted Morzan and Galbatorix in equal measure, Morzan for his crimes as a Forsworn and for being a horrible father; Galbatorix for enslaving him, torturing him and forcing him to kill thousands of innocents.

At the end, Nasuada stood alone, and gave her liege Eragon permission to kill the tyrant.

Eragon turned towards Galbatorix. Arya released her gag.

"I name you, Galbatorix Son of None. I name you oathbreaker and eggbreaker and murderer and tyrant. For these crimes, you shall be punished with execution. Your body shall be desecrated, never to be buried or consecrate any fair ground. Your body shall be burned, and your ashes burned again after. Do you have any final words?"

"Curse you, Eragon Shadeslayer. Curse you, elf-Rider. Curse the both of you. Together, you have thrown me off my throne and taken me from Alagaesia. Then, I condemn both of you to your fate: you will leave Alagaesia forever, never to return!"

Eragon half-ignored the curse directed to him, the selfsame that had been echoed by many others. That he had heard too many times. He seethed at Galbatorixfor trying to curse Arya, his beloved elf. He raised his blade directly over Galbatorix's black heart.

With a single word, Eragon's blade blazed with blue fire. He delivered a single, powerful stabbing thrust, searing Galbatorix's heart.

"He died instantly," Eragon observed, still chilled by Galbatorix's last words, "More than he ever gave others and much more than he deserved."

No one stabbed again for vengeance. None of them would stoop to Galbatorix's level.

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**The troops were assembled before them, in Uru'baen Square. Nasuada was speaking.

"Men of the Varden! We are victorious!" she proclaimed with gusto. There was a surprisingly low level of cheering - most had already yelled themselves hoarse.

"Tonight, we have freed Alagaesia from the hundred-year reign of the tyrant! Our toils and tribulations over these past months have been no small matter, but they have all culminated in the victory of today! We now hold the future of Alagaesia in our hands. It will be you, the peoples of Alagaesia, whether human, dwarf, elf or Urgal, to take your destiny into your own hands and shape a brighter tomorrow for our descendants."

"However, we must not forget those who gave their lives in service of this cause. Their sacrifice was noble and valiant and will never be forgotten, by us or by future generations. Let their names live on in history as the mark of true heroes!"

"We must tend to our wounded. They too have given their all for this battle and lost something in the process. Then we bury our dead. Let us honor their memory by giving them a proper burial. After that, we can finally celebrate our victory!"

She raised her sword up high, tip glinting in the sun. The troops summoned their voices for another cheer.

"Last, but not least, we must thank our heroes. Eragon Shadeslayer and Arya Drottningu fought tenaciously and bravely with Galbatorix, and dueled him in a combination of sorcery and sword. Their courage in the face of adversity should be remembered. Meanwhile, Murtagh Morzansson (there was a mutter of disapproval at the name of the son of Murtagh) undertook a dangerous mission by capturing Galbatorix's sources of power before joining the fight and rescuing Eragon and Arya from Galbatorix."

"I know many of you look with disfavour upon Murtagh and Thorn because Murtagh is the son of Morzan, and he and Thorn fought against us on the Burning Plains."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the crowd.

"I ask you not to judge him simply because he is Morzan's son. I ask you to accept him for who he really is, the Murtagh that fought with us against Galbatorix, the Murtagh that was instrumental in the downfall of Galbatorix, the Murtagh that I love." Nasuada turned to Murtagh, who was wearing a look of absolute shock, and kissed him, before dragging him away.

Some of the crowd, including most of the dwarves, gasped in anger. Lady Nasuada, leader of the Varden, was in love with the murderer of King Hrothgar! Eragon saw Orik, his friend, adopted brother and King, grasp his axe in anger.

Eragon and Arya groaned mentally. They had tried to warn Nasuada, dissuade her from such a foolish course of action, but she was drunk on victory and riding the passions of newfound love. At least she had prepared one more surprise as a means to distract the crowd's attentions. Eragon walked to the forefront of the stage.

"Because of her choice of mate, my liegelord Nasuda, after consultation with other leaders, has seen it fit to reject the position of Queen of Alagaesia offered to her. No Dragon Rider should be a King or Queen, and when Murtagh is married to Nasuada, he would become King at her side if she were Queen. She also understands that many of you despise Murtagh Morzansson for what he has done." Eragon did not wish to insult his brother, but they had all agreed this was necessary.

"Hence, it would do no good for the unity or spirit of Alagaesia if Murtagh Morzansson were to become King. In return for her sacrifice, she demands nothing, but only pleads that you respect her choice and leave Murtagh alone. Many have witnessed his role in the final battles on our side, and although that cannot mitigate his actions in forced enslavement under Galbatorix, I speak for my liegelord when I say that it should at least alleviate it."

At this, the atmosphere was evidently soothed. Nasuada was not blinded by her love after all. She was making a great sacrifice for him. Eragon continued.

"Hence, this duty then falls to her second-in-command Roran Stronghammer, my own cousin. He is a great leader, as is evidenced by how he led the men of the Varden in the war. He is descended from the line of Alagaesia's first king, Palancar, giving him royal ancestry. He has the support and backing of the Dragon Riders to claim his rightful position as King of Alagaesia, and his wife Katrina, who he braved the wrath of the Empire for, as Queen. Will you support him?"

The crowd thunderously applauded and let out a last, bellowing cheer of support, all thoughts of Nasuada and her dalliance with Murtagh forgottten. Arya dragged an extremely surprised Roran onstage and invited him to say a few words before grabbing Eragon's hand and dragging him to the closest healer's tents, where they could be of better use.

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Eragon stood amidst the gathered revelers. Although all around him he was hailed by whichever Varden, dwarf or elf that happened to glimpse him, he did not feel like celebrating. The cost of this war had been too high to warrant celebration. The memory of the maimed and wounded was still fresh in his mind, as was the burial and consecration he had performed with Arya for the dead.

However, Islanzadi apparently did not see things the way he did. Eragon was shocked to see her in a dress, raven locks curling around her shoulders, leading the elves in an entrancing, beauteous and merry festival of song. He sat on a log, an intricate silver golet swirling with of Oromis' faelnirv. The memory of his dead teacher still pained him. Eragon had taken Naegling and Undbitr from Glbatorix's armoury, and promised to restore them to his two dead teachers at their grave. Saphira had encased him in a shimmering tomb of amber, similar to what she had done with Brom. As his thoughts strayed to Saphira, he wondered where she was. The three dragons had gone hunting, and none of their Riders had heard from them all day.

Arya appeared out of the shadows and sat beside him on the log. Unlike her mother, she still refused to wear a dress unless absolutely necessary (when she had to masquerade as human). She was decked in her usual green and black tunic (Eragon sometimtes wondered if her wardrobe was ten duplicates of the same outfit), her long, flowing hair - something she had inherited from Islanzadi - curling around her shoulders elegantly, with Mor'ranr strapped to her side. Eragon stared at her, admiring the sight, shape, smell and sound of his beloeved elf. He inhaled. The wonderful smell of crush pinecones seemed to surround him.

"Eragon?" Arya shattered his reverie. "What are you doing here? The people wish to meet their hero."

"The same could be said for you, Arya Svit-Kona," he casually replied, even though his heart was pounding at a million times its usual speed, as it always did in the presence of _her._

"Eragon, there is no need to call me Svit-Kona in private. Do you see me address you as Shur'tugal, or even Eragon-elda?" a ghost of a smile fleeted over her lips - a rare occurence by Arya standards.

"Very well then, Arya. Why do you choose to sit here with me, rather than enjoy yourself at the party, like your revelling mother the Queen, amongst the many who hail you as a hero as much as I?"

"I have something to say to you. In private."

"Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya." Eragon plunged into the flow of magic and quickly warded their conversation from prying ears.

Arya looked him in the eyes. He noticed she had been gazing straight at the floor.

"Months ago, at the Blood-Oath Celebration, you confessed feelings for me. I spurned you harshly."

Eragon's eyes watered with the memory of the painful sting of rejection. Why was she bringing this up?

Arya swicthed to the Ancient Language. "Many times you have chased after my heart, the one thing I have kept secure from both my friends and my enemies. I have never accepted your suit. I shut out my emotions for a long time, shunting them into some small corner of my mind. I made you vow in the Ancient Language not to pursue me. For this I am sorry, for you gave me your heart, a precious part of yourself, and I cruelly stepped on it without thought or consideration for emotions, whether yours or mine."

"You, on the other hand, have treated me with the utmost respect, care and concern. You have always been there for me, from when you rescued me from the clutches of Durza to all the times you have comforted me, and let me your ear and your shoulder. You never hesitated when I asked you to swear that vow, cutting you off from your emotions, an action I now deeply regret."

Eragon was stunned. Arya was pouring out her heart to him. She had entrusted him with a key to her heart, something elves rarely gave away, even more so a reserved elf like Arya. He felt hope begin to mend his broken heart, which he had thought shattered beyond repair.

"I have done you so many, many wrongs. It was wrong in the first place to bind your feelings to a vow in the Ancient Language. I see now that it was even more heartbreaking for you and for me that I have withheld my feelings from you. I release you from your vow."

Eragon felt the invisible chains of magic leave him. His heart burned even more with his love for that emerald-eyed elf.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Arya's last statement was barely more than a whisper. Her emerald eyes gleamed with tears.

"How can I not? I would do anything for you, Arya." Eragon's throat felt dry, and his lips chaffed, but he still croaked that single statement.

Arya's sudden smile burst forth like the radiant rays of the sun emerging from behind a departing stormcloud. This was only the fifth time Eragon had ever seen her give that brilliant, wonderful, glowing smile that he lived to see.

"Thank you, Eragon. I do not know how I am deserving of your unconditional love for me." Her eyes met his again, and he felt that same, electrifying spark. She brushed her lips agaisnt his, and if only for one, fleeting moment, it was, without exception, the best moment in his life.

His heart soared, his feelings mended as though by magic. _She does love me!_

Her lips met his for a second time, this kiss longer. Her eyes gleamed with happiness now, instead of tears, and in front of himself Eragon now saw a changed Arya. Instead of that wall of unflinching, unfeeling power he often felt from her, the inner Arya, the one Eragon had fallen in love with, stood before him.

"I have a little gift for you, Eragon." she whispered.

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Without a moment's hesitation, she began to sing.

_Remember those walls I built? _

After Faölin had died, she swore she'd never love again.

_Well, baby, they're tumbling down _

But she hadn't met Eragon yet.

_And they didn't even put up a fight _

His smile, his face, and most importantly his heart.

_They didn't even make a sound _

When she realised the true extent of his feelings for her, much more than any infatuation, but rather a true acceptance, something she had never gotten from anyone, not even Faölin, of who she was, what she was.

_I found a way to let you in _

She rejected him at first, but he never hated her for it. Even after she made him swear that accursed vow.

_But I never really had a doubt _

He was always there. No matter what her problems, she knew Eragon would be there, solid and dependable as a rock, yet as concerned and as protective of her as a dragon.

_Standing in the light of your halo _

Eragon's light had pierced the cloaking darkness of her heart.

_I got my angel now _

Eragon.

_It's like I've been awakened _

Finally, she had admitted her feelings to herself. Her mind chanted "No. No. No." repetitively, but her heart had won without so much as a single word.

_Every rule I had you breakin' _

The fight with Galbatorix. She was never concerned for her own safety in battle, but she always worried for Eragon. And she worried that he would not come out alive. But no matter how she tried, her mouth wouldn't work everytime she tried. And Eragon continued living that heartbreaking lie.

_It's the risk that I'm takin' _

She never told him. She gave him a friendly hug instead. She hoped he knew. But her cold, rational, laughing mind reminded her he definitely did not. She forced her heart down again to confront Galbatorix.

_I ain't never gonna shut you out_

Never again. Too much hurt. Too much heartbreak.

She looked into Eragon's eyes. And lost herself there. She continued to sing, mouth forming the lyrics she had memorised by heart. But she no longer thought about them. All she saw was Eragon's eyes.

And his love.

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**A/N: Oh dear. Cotton candy. Enjoy your fluff! Still, with The Great Galbi dead... And I kinda like this chapter.**

**Halo, by Beyoncé Knowles, is owned by her, or her record company, or her label, or whoever. Just not me.**

**"Time can heal all wounds. Love can too - just faster."**

** -lordlivgon**


	3. Surprise, Surprise

**DISCLAIMER: Galbatorix owns everything.**

**Galbi: Yes I do!**

***CP appears with sword and stabs Galbi, who disappears***

**CP: I OWN EVERYTHING!**

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Saphira roared, blue-scorching-fire rushing out from her mouth as she blew a long stream of fire into the air. To her right, red-scales-Thorn flew; to her left, emerald-scales-Greeni flew. She had unchallenged dominance over them in her rightful position as leader-of-the-hunt. Greeni had not bothered challenging her, instead choosing to divert his energies to catching trout in Leona Lake; Thorn had considered it, but Saphira used lifted her tail lazily and bashed his head with such force that he quickly forgot about any challenge.

They had spent almost the entire day fishing at Leona Lake; although seafood was not the most agreeable to Saphira's pallet, she had not enjoyed fish for awhile and had enjoyed her hunt.

As Saphira neared Uru'baen, sounds of celebration made by two-legs drifted by on the wind; she heard pointy-ears-proud-queen-Islanzadi singing. Her ears pricked up – perhaps there would be mead to enjoy? Saphira loved the strange-funny-tickle-belch sensation that mead gave her. She was soon distracted by the presence of partner-of-her-heart-and-mind-Eragon and green-eyes-pointy-ears-Arya, and she told Thorn to go ahead and find melancholy-dark-hair-Murtagh while she and Greeni visited their Riders. As Thorn angled towards the celebrations, she promptly scanned Eragon's mind and noticed that he was finally being kissed by Arya.

_Two-legs. Always the endless jabber. Too much talk, too little action_, she harrumphed, glad that they had finally gotten over the talk-talk-talk phase. Still, she wondered what Greeni thought.

_What is that they are doing, your partner and mine? Why are they locking lips? Is this some form of ritual? _Greeni's mind thought in a different way from hers. Rarely did he express himself in ways like she did, preferring to stick to more organized thought, which was most definitely pointy-ears influence. And he asked a lot of questions. Not as much as the two-legs, but still enough to be annoying.

_That is a mating ritual of two-legs, Greeni. They share saliva as an expression of intimacy. _Saphira explained.

_Ah. So they are in love then, your partner and mine._

_For a long time they have been, but your partner has spent far too long denying it to everyone, including herself. I am surprised you did not counsel her._

_Her feelings towards your partner have always been confused, or at least she deliberately confuses herself. I was unable to identify the correct strand of thoughts, so I thought it best to leave her alone._

They glided downwards, heading for the clearing Eragon and Arya were in.

* * *

Their lips were locked in a tight embrace. He could smell her scent of crushed pinecones, the warmth of her body against his, her hands wrapped around his neck. She was kissing him with a fervour and passion he did not know she had, and he responded in kind. Elfish emotions were unpredictably volatile, for elves seemed to have no emotions to speak of, but once they committed themselves to something, they threw their soul into it.

Their moment of intertwined passion and peace was rudely interrupted by two large thuds in succession as Saphira and Greeni joined the two Riders in the clearing. They immediately broke apart.

_Took the two of you long enough,_ Saphira grinned toothily. Eragon and Arya both blushed.

_Such a joyous and momentous occasion, _Greeni added excitably, _Shall I make announcement of this from the treetops?_

"Does it matter?" Arya questioned, a look of radiant bliss upon her face, "Throw caution to the winds! Let all know that I, Arya Drottningu, love Eragon Shadslayer!"

Then she shook her head, as though recovering from a daze. She offered a weak smile. "Forgive me. Despite all appearances, elves are deeply emotional creatures. I spoke without thinking. That is the first, and last, time, that you will ever hear me say something like that. I am not sure how my mother will react, although I have gone beyond her control as a Rider, I would not want to upset our relationship."

"Perhaps it would be wise to keep this a secret for now," agreed Eragon. "I am not ashamed of my love for you, nor will I ever be, but we need to tell Islanzadi quietly, in private and as soon as possible. I for one would not like to find out something like this because a dragon was yelling it to all in earshot."

_Enough jabber! I hear parties, and I thirst for mead! _Saphira bounded towards the centre of the party, quickly followed by Greeni, Eragon and Arya.

_What is mead? _Greeni demanded inquisitively.

Saphira grinned. _Greenscales, you are right about to find out._

"Do you think this is wise?" Eragon murmured to Arya.

"What? Giving mead to dragons for drinking? Perfectly fine," she smiled back.

"If I had known one kiss would make Arya so much happier, I would have given it a long time ago," Eragon mischievously replied.

"I wasn't always Arya the Ambassador, you know, fighting for my survival on a daily basis. There is still some of Arya the Elf somewhere in here," she said, tapping her brain, "and I think you will be seeing more of her around." Her fingers laced through his, both Riders headed back to the scene of the celebrations slowly, ignoring their excited dragons, who had bounded ahead to secure a few barrels of mead for themselves before they ran out.

* * *

"Islanzadi Drottning, I and Arya have something to tell you," Eragon began nervously.

Eragon and Arya had requested a private meeting away from the revelers, so Islanzadi had led them to a secluded area a ways from the party.

"Eragon-elda, my child Arya, there is no need to stand there acting like a pair of nervous sheep. I could not be more happy for the pair of you," Islanzadi reassured.

Eragon and Arya shot a look at each other.

"You know?" Eragon asked plaintively, dropping all semblance of formality.

"Elves are an Elder Race, Shur'tugal. You see me celebrate the death of Galbatorix, almost as if to wild abandon, but I am still very much in control of my emotions. Attending a few Blood-Oath Celebrations tends to grant that ability. When the two of you emerged from whatever corner you have been secluding yourselves in, the two of you may not have been outwardly displaying affection, but the eyes gave it away. My daughter had acquired that dreamy, faraway look that I have been seeing in your eyes for a while; that look which is the sole preserve of love." Islanzadi gently admonished.

"Do you…approve?" Arya asked hesitatingly.

"If you seek consent, it is unnecessary. I am staring at two mature Dragon Riders, not two lovestruck teenagers. If you seek approval, it is given. If you seek blessing, that too you have." Islanzadi completed her little spiel, looking for all the world like a proud mother, before returning to her usual regal expression.

"And now, I must return to the party. There are still more songs to sing, more about Galbatorix's death to regale, and more opportunities to celebrate!" Islanzadi slipped away gratefully, her sonorous, gifted – even by elven standards – voice effortlessly blending with the singers, who had not stopped singing since sundown.

Arya's fingers laced through Eragon's again. "I was actually expecting to do most of the talking," she observed.

"Too much talking," Eragon agreed.

Their lips met.

* * *

_Eragon. _Saphira's insistent voice buzzed in his head. He was still half-asleep.

_ERAGON!_ Saphira's voice was like an icy, painful stab through his clouded consciousness.

"WHAAAT?" Eragon sat up abruptly, rubbing his eyes. Beside him, Arya looked equally disheveled.

_The BOTH of you. Outside Uru'baen. NOW. _Saphira's baleful voice echoed through their heads.

When a dragon demanded something, it was best to comply. Eragon and Arya got up in a hurry. They were in Eragon's bed, but they had not been having sex yet. Arya didn't want to, and frankly, neither did Eragon, despite all that postulation that all men thought with their lower halves when it came to affairs of the heart. Most men did, certainly, but Eragon was not most men. They were content to have each other close, confident in the knowledge that he loved her and she loved him.

They strode quickly in the direction of Saphira's voice.

"What could have happened to make her so upset?" Eragon wondered aloud.

Arya simply gave a noncommittal shrug.

On the outskirts of the Lower City, Saphira and Greeni were side by side, heads steadfastly looking in opposite directions, refusing to even talk.

"What's going on, Saphira?" Eragon asked concernedly.

_Things. _One of her dinner-plate sized eyes flicked open to look at him and Arya. We drank quite a lot of mead last night, and got hilariously drunk. The Varden and dwarves could not stop laughing.

"So the two of you have hangovers? Is that the problem?" Eragon was beginning to feel slightly irritated that Saphira had disturbed him and Arya to complain about her alcohol problems.

_Oh! So this fuzzy feeling in my head is called a hangover? Thank you for telling me that, Eragon-elda! Greeni finally joined the conversation._

"Enough!" Arya commanded. "Would the two of you kindly get to the point?"

Saphira groaned. _Okay, okay. We did it._

"It?" Eragon questioned.

_To put it in simple terms, _Greeni continued, _we beat the two of you to the prize. We mated. We had sex. Would you like a more scientific explanation?_

"You did WHAAAT?" Eragon exclaimed. Arya just looked shocked.

_Ah yes, _Saphira groused, _the only predictable thing this morning. Your reactions. Eragon will now shout for about three minutes before calming down and talking about it. Arya will just stand there looking as though she would like all manner of insects to nest in her mouth._

Saphira's brand of humour seemed to add a little normalcy to the whole situation, which was becoming rather unreal.

"Would the two of you mind starting your story again, this time with a more cohesive account of events?"

_We were drunk. I was already attracted to him, and he was just waiting for a chance to ask. We were too drunk to think, or to care, so we just did...it._

_Brightscales, _Greeni cautioned, _the whole truth. Or I will speak._

_You stay out of it! _she growled at Greeni. Turning back to Eragon and Arya, she said only two words.

_I'm pregnant._

_

* * *

_***wink***


End file.
